


Never Another Like Her

by NicoleDilona



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, One-Sided Attraction, Russian Revolution, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleDilona/pseuds/NicoleDilona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None ever melted the ice in his heart like she did, from the day of her birth to the end of her short life. A look into a few of the moments Russia shared with his darling, the Grande Duchess Anastasia Romanov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the Beginning

1901 

Another girl.

The Tsar’s body goes rigid when the gender is announced, causing the news bearing servant to shrink in embarrassment. The shrill crying coming from behind the closed door is suddenly unexciting and simply irksome. Russia feels his lips slide into a frown and tries not to let a disappointed sigh escape him. He would not be meeting a new heir tonight after all. No, instead the Romanov house had produced yet another Grande Duchess.

Russia glanced over at Nicholas when he heard a sob, and promptly turned his eyes away, discomforted when he confirmed it was his boss who was weeping. 

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Nicholas managed to say before striding down the hall, away from the room that held his wife and newest daughter.

“Sir,” the nation looked down at the still terrified servant, “The Tsarina requested you.”

It seemed wrong, somehow, to see Nicholas’s child before him, Russia thought idly, eyeing the door that muffled the baby’s wails.   
\- - -  
An hour later Tsar Nicholas finally entered the birth room to find his wife asleep and Russia holding his child. 

“The baby seemed to be screaming to wake the dead,” Russia heard the midwife whisper, “Until the Tsarina let that man hold her. She quieted right down, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a babe take to a stranger so quickly.”

Russia does not spare a glance to the midwife or his boss, his gaze still locked on the sleeping angel in his arms. He had held his fair share of royal babies, many cried, others did not. But none had ever made his heart feel quite this…warm. 

Eventually he looked up at the Tsar, rather pleased to see a bit of guilt on the father’s face as his eyes flickered from his sleeping wife to his child. “Your highness,” Russia said softly, “Have you thought of a name?”

“Wha-, oh, no. No I haven’t,” Nicholas said, a bit sheepishly, “Do you have any suggestions Ivan?”

The use of his human name made him look back at the fragile treasure in his arms; it brought back the memory of another woman who had warmed a cold heart. 

“Anastasia.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_1916_ **

“Ivan!”

As the sight of her rushing towards him enters his vision his mind clears of the explosions and the death of his soldiers. As the Grand Duchess crashes into him and attempts to wrap her arms around his massive frame some of the aches of the war disappear. As she looks up at him, resting her chin on his chest, and doesn’t hide the joy in her eyes the ice in his heart warms just as it did on the day she was born.

“Hello _Malenkaya_ ,” he whispers, reaching up a hand to brush against her hair.

“Ivan it feels like it’s been _years,_ ” Anastasia says breathlessly, beaming up at one of her favorite people in the world. Behind her Olga, Tatiana, and Maria walk past slowly, appraising the pair with the usual looks of curiosity and slight jealousy, for Russia had never granted _them_ such affection. He chooses not to break the tradition today and gives the older sisters only a slight bow of his head before returning his attention to the little spitfire wrapped around him.

While dutifully listening to her babble about her hospital visits he thinks how lovely it was that his favorite princess comforted the soldier’s that had spilt blood for him.

\-- -

The meeting room empties slowly, unease and disappointment making shoulders slump and feet drag. Soon Nicholas and Russia are the only ones left in the room. The Tsar puts a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples while his country watches unsympathetically.

“I was not ready, I told you this.”

“Please Ivan,” Nicholas begs, lifting a hand as if to halt the words.

But the nation is not swayed, he continues in a deceptively calm voice, “England and France whisper behind my back. They know I’m weak, and Germany is certainly catching on-“

“Don’t…”

“This war is a mistake your majesty,” Russia straightens up imposingly, “Every day it carries on justifies the name Bloody Nicholas.”

“Ivan,” the emperor barks, looking equal parts angered and scandalized. Russia turns his head away, falling quiet but not apologizing for his blunt words. He looks out the window, where the sun is shining despite the cold temperature. It gives the allusion of a warm day…

“Let’s talk about something else,” Nicholas mumbles after composing himself, “Is there anything you feel we need to discuss.”

Russia clenches his hands at his sides. “Yes,” he turns back to his boss, “I wish to discuss this Rasputin man.”

The Tsar groaned once more, Russia felt his irritation flair but kept his expression calm.

“Please call him Father Grigory,” Nicholas said, already miserable, “And there’s really nothing to discuss-“

“The people do not like him. They find his influence over you and your family disturbing. There are rumors of lust between him and the Tsarina and,” here Russia’s eyes narrow angrily, showing his true feelings, “the Grand Duchesses.”

“They are just rumors,” Nicholas tries.

“Yes,” Russia almost sneers, “But they are rumors with a basis. How long ago was it that he had unlimited access to their rooms? It is improper for a man, even if he is as ‘holy’ as you and your wife say, to have such a rapport with young woman. It sickens me to hear what people think.”

“How appropriate that is what you would focus on,” Nicholas mumbles, looking sullenly at the table.

“Excuse me?”

The emperor is nervous but agitated enough to carry on, “I am not a fool, Ivan. I know there are those who don’t understand our family’s relationship with Father Grigory. I just find it amusing that you only focus on the rumors that pertain to my daughters, or should I say daughter? And isn’t it interesting that you find it improper for Father Grigory to spend time with them while you yourself, a man hundreds of years old, gives much of his attention to a fourteen-year-old girl with an unreasonable crush!” Nicholas finishes, face tinted red and breathing a bit heavier while his country looks at him, a cool smile plastered on his face.

“What exactly are you implying, your majesty?” The pure frigidness in the nation’s words makes Nicholas flinch.

The Tsar does not answer for a time but when he does his voice is small. “I apologize Ivan. I know you’ve never thought that… it’s just… well…”

“I will trust you to do what you will with this _holy_ _man_ ,” Russia interrupts, voice and smile still cold, “But know that many, including myself, disapprove. Now I must take my leave, I promised Anastasia I would spend the afternoon with her as soon as I was done with you. Which I am.”

With those words the nation turned to leave but stilled when he heard his boss’s voice once more.

“She does Ivan,” Nicholas says. When Russia doesn’t respond or question him he continues anyway. “When the Prince of Romania was interested in Olga, Anastasia told me she didn’t wish to marry a prince. I asked who she had in mind, she didn’t answer the question, but later she asked if you could ever marry,” the Tsar pauses and Russia can easily imagine the small, slightly sad smile he surely wears. “Little Nastya seems to fancy herself in love with her country.”

Russia stays silent, allowing this information to sink in, sink in deep to his heart.

\-- -

He walks along the corridors of the palace, observing. Just as he had observed the peasant village yesterday; when the screams of death and war had pounded inside his brain for hours and his stomach had cried out in hunger. What a contrast to this luxury, and how sickening it all was. Being surrounded by this wealth does nothing to ease the trickle of loathing that had slowly been filling his mind for years, and with increasing urgency at every life spent in his name. Bloody Nicholas indeed.

He tries to keep his mind off his boss; the problem, though, is that trying to avoid dark thoughts about the Tsar only brings up uneasy ones about his daughter.

A crush?

\-- -

_He had been a constant in her life, just like any other family member. But, unlike her parents, she had always known his affection lay with her alone. He did not care that Olga and Tatiana where older and more sophisticated, or that Mashka was better behaved, or even that Alexei was the Tsarevich, the most important child in Russia. She never doubted his favoritism. How could she, when the cold smile that disturbed so many others always changed to one so loving and bright whenever he laid eyes on her?_

\-- -

Anastasia always had to be so unpredictable, the nation pondered with a rueful smile. His little spitfire had kept everyone on their toes for so long, yet he had always thought himself immune to her erratic ways. ‘Well _Malenkaya_ ,’ he thought, almost sadly, ‘you have finally confounded me.’

\---

_The maid had been pleading with her for an almost a half hour, but she would not budge. Her tutors had left long ago, storming off after the small Grand Duchess had refused to listen. She’d been glad to see them go, sticking out her tongue at their retreating backs for a farewell. She was quite happy on her tree branch, thank you very much. Even if she wasn’t,_ anything _was better than more boring history lessons._

_Suddenly the maid fell silent, causing her to glance down with renewed interest. Standing next to the servant, towering over her, stood Russia. “Ivan,” she cried, happily._

_He looked up at her with fondness instead of irritation, “_ Malenkaya, _aren’t you supposed to be in your history lessons?”_

_“Oh, but Ivan they’re so boring,” she whines, “And it’s much too nice of a day to be learning.”_

_“Boring, hmm,” the country lifted his hands and gently held the ankles that were dangling in front of his face, “I thought you liked my stories? Those are history,_ da?”

_“I do! It’s much better when you tell them.”_

_“Well, then why don’t we go for a walk and I’ll do teach your history lessons my way? I’ll even tell you some stories about France so you can impress your grandmother next week.”_

_Squealing with delight, she flung herself off the tree branch. The maid yelped in fright but quickly fell silent when Russia caught her easily. He went to put her down but she tightened her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, instantly surrounded by a smell that always caused her to sigh blissfully._

\---

Russia continued to make his way slowly through the palace. One step, another, one foot forward, and again. He moved heavily, the agony of millions on his shoulders, the thick weight of hatred pumping in his blood, and, now, the pressure of personal worry constricting his heart.

Oh, Anastasia.

She didn’t understand what she was doing to him, or to herself. But he did, and he knew they were both doomed.

\---

_Her eyes darted around the room as the clumsy officer led her in a dance. She moved thoughtlessly, giving her partner vague hums in response to his attempt at small talk. This young man doesn’t interest her, but she’s searching every corner and shadow to find the one that does. At last her gaze fixates on a tall figure standing back from the crowd, watching the festivities but not participating in the slightest. Finally._

_Soon the dance ends, she doesn’t even give the officer a hurried thank you before rushing off. Someone is sure to scold her for such rudeness but she does not care, and she never has. Especially when Russia is a reason for any misbehavior on her part._

_She approaches him, slowing the closer she gets. As of late her stomach feels awfully fluttery and her body rather light in his presence. It usually only lasts but a moment, but sometimes it’s enough to cause her cheeks to turn pink. Silly, really. It’s just Ivan._

_“Hello your highness,” his expression is as soft as ever, “You look beautiful.”_

_Oh if only that were true, she thought ruefully. Tatiana and Olga looked beautiful, she just felt like an imp, even in this elegant dress. But the fact that Russia said anything still made her skin tingle pleasantly._

_“I wish you could dance with me now,” she sidled up next to the giant man and took his hand. He squeezed her hand gently as he looked down, focused on nothing else but her. The weight of his attention sometimes makes her head dizzy, but she’s realized she’s addicted to the feeling, has been for a long time. She feels sick when she has to go periods without it, when Ivan leaves her._

_She never wants him to leave her._

_“I do too,”_ _his voice makes her start slightly, pulled from her internal distress. It takes her a moment to remember what they were talking about. Oh yes, dancing. “But it would not do to call too much attention to myself.”_

_“Will you dance with my later though,” she looks up at his handsome face, praying that he really does find her beautiful. “Like we did last time, after everyone has gone?”_

_Russia chuckles, “Of course. But you had better go join the party again if you don’t want your mother to be upset with you, she might send you straight to bed otherwise.”_

_She thinks about arguing and staying put like she wants to. She wishes to spend the rest of the night by his side, not dancing with more clumsy officers and nobles. Yet he’s right, Mama might be upset and she can’t risk having their dance ruined. Reluctantly, she starts away only letting his hand slide out his grip when she absolutely has to. As she walks back to the dance floor she briefly imagines telling Russia that sometimes at night, before she falls asleep, she thinks about their wedding. But the thought mortifies her and she resolves not to tell him, not yet anyways._

_The rest of the night, throughout every dance, her eyes inevitably drifted to him._

\-- -

The nation finally comes to a purposeful stop in front of a large window at the end of the corridor. Snow and ice stretched across the landscape, the sky now a sad grey, the horizon stern where the two met. An ugly sight in, his opinion. Russian winters were brutal and unforgiving, just like life.

“Ivan?”

Gloved fingers twitched at the sound of his favorite’s voice. Perhaps if he was stronger he would not be turning around to face her, alas he wasn’t. Anastasia was looking at him, no doubt questioning his grim expression, one he worn so rare in her presence.  “Is something wrong,” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

He kneels down so they are eye level, and brushes his fingers against her hair. Give her up? The only one who can calm the fury of the oppressed and the shrieks of war, the only one who makes him feel _human_? Could he do it?

The rational part of his mind ordered him to. Did he not remember the utter heartbreak France had experienced after Joan? Couldn’t he recall how many months England had wept after Elizabeth? The howls of pain from Prussia when Fredrick passed? Or even how he himself had felt at the deaths of Ivan and Catherine? Getting too close was perilous, he _knew_ this, and he had done it anyway. Perhaps there was still time to escape, time to save them both. Yes, something is very wrong, he should say. He should distance them, push her away. Let her get over this crush and forget about their friendship while he watched from a safe distance. Maybe she could fall in love and marry a soldier like Maria wished to, or even a prince. She could live happily ever after, away from him, and away from this war that is threatening to swallow Russia whole.

But knowing what is right and doing what is right are two very different things. Russia has rarely pretended to be an honorable man, at the sight of her comforting blue eyes he can’t think why he should start now.

“No,” he says, a smile breaking his heart, “Nothing is wrong.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:
> 
> -Russia mobilized for World War One in August of 1914. They really weren’t prepared or equipped for such a brutal war and it took a huge toll.
> 
> -Nicholas II was known as Bloody Nicholas. Not long after he was married and took the throne thousands marched to the Winter Palace in 1905 (on a day known to history as Bloody Sunday) to give Nicholas a petitions asking for better living conditions. Nicholas wasn’t at the Winter Palace at the time, and the guards became fearful and fired on the crowd, killing many and infuriating the Russian people After failing to carry through with the promises he made after Bloody Sunday, Nicholas forever alienated his people and doomed his rule, himself, and his family. 
> 
> -Rasputin was a Holy Man close to the Tsarina because he could calm down Alexi (Anastasia’s young brother) when he was in great pain caused by the bruises from his Hemophilia (which is a whole other story you should look up). The royal family believed he had holy powers but most likely he was a hypnotist. He was not popular among Russian nobility or the common people.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Notes  
>  -Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia was born on June 18th 1901.  
> -The imperial family was hoping for a boy so they were disappointed at her birth to find another girl. Her father had to go for a long walk to compose himself before visiting his wife and the new baby.


End file.
